Home Means Love

This is an essay about what home means to me. I’m going to talk about my favorite memories, how family helps create a healthy home, and the differences between a home and a house. This next paragraph is about the different between a house and a home. This next paragraph is about the difference between a house and a home. This paragraph is about the difference between a house and a home. I believe a home is where you make memories and just grow up. A house is made of stuff like concrete, drywall, bricks and paint I don’t think those two are the same thing. The family is a big part of a home to me. The people in my family are Hosea, Caleb, Ethan, my dad, my mom, and me. I think my family is important to me and life would not be even half as fun if they were not here. They make life so much livelier. My family is mostly home so we spend a lot of time together. Even though they can sometimes be annoying, I love them. Memories are made when something funny, sad, or happy happens and you remember it. My top three memories are moving into my new house, my dog dying, and when I went to Bolivia. I remember when I first moved in, and the “new house” smell was in the air, and it didn’t really feel like home yet. A sad memory that I have is when my dog Skie died. It was so sad that I cried for six hours straight because we had had her for seven years since she was a puppy, and she was part of the family. My next memory is when I stayed in Bolivia for two weeks. I went to hot springs, saw old houses and buildings, and kayaked. So that was my essay about what home means to me. Home sweet home. That its not just a big pile of bricks.